


Coping Mechanisms

by Atanih88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to deal with crappy situations, Dean Winchester style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping Mechanisms

**Author's Note:**

> This is for doodlelover's [prompt](http://atanih88.livejournal.com/77698.html?thread=552066#t552066). Erm, not quite as focused on the prompt as it should have been ^^; I'm sorry. Un-beta'd so if anyone spots any mistakes, please do let me know, thank you : )

Dean groaned into the pillow, fists tightening on the sheets as the bed shifted under Castiel's weight. His shoulders snapped tense, skin sticky with sex and sweat as Castiel shuffled backwards. The pull had Dean's breath catching as his muscles tightened, squeezing on the head of Castiel's dick before it slipped free. Castiel wasn't unaffected either if the way he curled over and rested his forehead against the back of Dean's neck was anything to go by.

Their breathing was heavy. There was the crunch of gravel outside; steps—a shadow moving past the window that Dean opened his eyes to track. The faraway sound of a door opening and closing,

"Dean." Castiel spoke his name right into his ear, heat pouring softly onto shells of his ear. The low roughness of Castiel's voice made Dean shut his eyes again, made him swallow and push away the memory of other sounds that Castiel could make. The ones he _had_ made and not all that long ago.

The room was hot so Dean shrugged a shoulder, grunted, trying to get Castiel to move without having to open his mouth. He'd rather not have to make conversation and fucking talk about it right then.

There was a moment where Castiel stilled, as if the small request for space surprised him, but then he moved. The mattress trembled under their weight again. All Cas did though, was lie back on the other side of the single.

Dean shifted onto his side, his back to Castiel. He winced at the low throb and the sloppy wetness of spit and come.

He had to hand it to celestial beings. When they went for it, they _went_ for it.

This was new.

Drunken sex with angels apparently came about as a result of soulless douchebag brothers, losing one of the only decent relationships of his life and being served up as plated sushi to hungry ghouls by his grandfather. On Castiel's side it had been the result of porn and a heavenly war which he wasn't exactly winning.

Fuck that.

Cas was getting his ass kicked. Well, if the way he'd shown up—for once not tricked into it—was anything to go by. He'd been more dishevelled than ever and when Dean had let him in he'd refused to say what was wrong and just sat, straight and stiff at the small motel table, hands clasped and watching Dean.

So—this was how it went; bottle of Jack half emptied down Dean's throat, frustrated angel, Sam off fucking another hooker, Dean sitting with one leg stretched out on the bed and the other braced on the floor. Then all it had taken was Dean patting the small space beside him and slurring, "Hey, Cas."

After that, things were a bit of a blur.

They'd stopped blurring sometime around Cas fucking up into him and hitting all the wrong spots—then all the good ones after Dean growled every swear word in the book at him and told him to get it right. Then it had been a white out.

And now he could hear Castiel behind him, all quiet, calm breaths. The alcohol present only as a cotton layer over the roof of Dean's mouth and the sluggish weight of his body.

Curious fingers trailed over the sharpness of his hipbone, finger pads rough and rasping at skin as they moved further down. Castiel's arm rested heavy and damp over Dean's waist as his hand got closer to Dean's limp dick.

Castiel shifted forward, pressing himself against Dean's back, hips nestling up to Dean's ass.

Dean's mouth twisted in a scowl and for the first time since coming all over the bed—and damn it , he was the one lying on the wet spot—twisted his head to look at Cas.

"Hey man, no hugs, no cuddles—some space right now would be good."

Blue eyes blinked up from where they'd been trained on what Castiel was doing and zeroed in on Dean's face instead. His hair was completely all over the place and Dean scowled even more when he found himself thinking that the fucked out look suited him.

"Oh." That was all Castiel said before his eyes slid away from Dean's face. His hand retreated but before Dean could relax back into the bed, those same fingers began following the curve of his ass instead. They slipped down the line of his crack and brushed over his loosened hole, trailing with that same air of curiosity over the mess seeping out there. "That wasn't what I planned on doing next."

"Doing next," Dean repeated, staring at him.

Castiel looked at him again; face all serious as if they were discussing another of his missing holy artefacts instead of follow up sex. "Yes."

Dean faced the other side once more.

Sam wasn't gonna be back for a while.

His breath hitched when two fingers slipped back in.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."


End file.
